Lestrade settled back into his ergonomic swivel chair for a few precious minutes of peace and quiet, alone in his office. It was a little oasis of calm, at odds with the raging chaos outside. The phone had been ringing off the hook for the past hour-reports of what was starting to look like an entire city blackout were pouring in from all corners of London. That wasn't all-there were also reports of thefts, looters, fears about looters, break-ins, and the odd idiot who decided a nice rooftop stroll was a good idea. They were running on emergency power and anyone who had been unlucky enough to be on the night shift or even in the building when the blackout struck.

Detective Inspector Alison Sato-a young, slim, Japanese woman in from the Hendon Metcall with a sharp tongue and sharper intellect-poked her head around the door. "Got a moment, Lestrade? You left your phone on Hopkins' desk."

"Stan? He probably wanted to take it apart out of curiosity. I'm surprised it still works."

"You have…ten missed calls. From a…Mycroft? You know him?"

Hmm. Not even a snide comment about his forgetfulness. She must have been exhausted.

"Sherlock's brother?" That was strange -Mycroft never texted if he could call, and never called if he could kidnap, bribe, vaguely threaten or otherwise coerce someone into doing something.

Something had to be wrong.

"The Freak has a brother?" she said, with obvious distaste. She held up her hands in the universal not-my-problem gesture. "Well, he's your area. I don't want anything to do with him."

There was a sudden commotion from outside.

"Inspector Sato! Get out here, we've got an S grade in NW2!"

She sighed, brushing aside some stray hairs from her forehead and adjusting her cuttingly modern rectangular glasses to fit her thin face. They hid the dark circles under her eyes surprisingly well-they were severely understaffed for the night and there was no telling how long this blackout would last. "Duty calls. Catch you later, all right?"

"Yeah, sure. Thanks."

"Not a problem."

He scrolled down. He had called ten times, noted Lestrade with a sinking feeling. This probably had something to do with Sherlock. Lately it seemed that even when it wasn't about him it was about him. Or John. Or, more likely, both of them. There were some strange rumors going around…well, no matter. He pressed "call."

"Hello?"

"Inspector Lestrade. You finally saw fit to return my calls. I assume you had other, more pressing matters to attend to?"

"Er…yes. There's been a blackout…"

"I'm very aware, Inspector, and I have some people working on it. However, that is not my reason for calling you."

"I don't suppose you just wanted to chat?" he asked a little nervously.

"No. It has come to my attention that John and Sherlock left their flat at around eight forty five this evening. They have yet to return and, as you are no doubt aware, it has been two hours."

"Well I'm sure-"

"Neither of them is answering calls."

"They could be-"

"If I recall correctly, you informed me that they were given a case to do with a one Sebastian Moran, who was responsible for the Kent shootings in 2009?"

"Yes."

"That wouldn't involve any legwork, would it?"

"No…"

"So tell me where they could be."

"Er…out? At a…bar?"

"John does not drink. Neither does Sherlock."

"Well…they could be…look, I don't mean to be rude, but how the hell would I know where they could be? I mean, there's been a blackout, yes, but they're perfectly capable of handling themselves."

"You would be interested to know that the tails I had set on them disappeared a few hours ago. We just found them."

"Where?"

"In an alley near a grocery store. In several, cleverly concealed pieces. They had to fish one of their heads out of a dumpster to ensure it was, indeed, the same person I had hired."

His stomach flip-flopped. "That's…not a good sign, is it."

"No."

"I'll be right on it," he said, rising from his seat and going for his coat. What with the blackout, traffic was going to be a nightmare.

This was bad.

Okay, he thought, just another hostage situation. Don't think about them being dead. Just don't.

He broke into a sprint.